The Wolfshead
by Wyvern's Elucidated Brethren
Summary: A world without magic. The Dark Lord has been in power for the last twenty years. Wolfshead, legendary assassin, hunter and hunted, is a man alone, haunted by his past. After completing his revenge, he embarks on a dangerous new mission which could bring
1. The End....

A/N: This is very much based on the wonderful Waylander books, by David   
Gemmell. I don't know whether I should continue with this or not, but please  
R/R and tell me what you think. This is my first fanfic, but don't let that mean  
that you have to be nice to me. Flames appreciated. We could do with some   
warmth here!   
This is being reposted chapter by chapter. If you've read this before, bear with me. If not...enjoy!  
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, they belong to the fab JK Rowling. Concept is David A.Gemmell's. I just thought it would be a nice   
idea one day to combine the two. Don't sue me, all you'll get is...*counts   
money* £2.80.   
  
  
Wolfshead stalked along the corridors of the immense manor, taking care to keep in the shadows and avoid notice. The servants took no notice of him as he walked among them, as he was dressed in their garb. And that suited Wolfshead, it would make his task a lot easier. He wanted to avoid  
as many innocent deaths as possible.   
  
In a sense, he was relishing this task. For that would mean the end to the  
nightmare, the end to the quest he'd set himself on that day, fifteen years   
ago.   
  
He shuddered at the memory, blotting the picture out of his mind. Thinking about it still caused him immense pain, even after this long. He focused his pain and rage into the task ahead of him, and it was that focus that made his footfalls silent, his senses sharp.   
  
He hefted his weapon. It was a beautifully crafted double crossbow, nestling in his hands like a gun, perfectly balanced. The sword in his scabbard brushed against his leg. Expertly skilled with both weapons, they were said by many to be enchanted by demons. That was at least partly true; the crossbow was enchanted, and never missed the targets he aimed at. But not by a demon. Enchanted by Wolfshead, the last bit of magic he had ever   
used, at great risk to his life.   
  
Twenty years ago, the Dark Forces had seized control of the land, in what  
was commonly known as the Battle of the Fall. Most of those who opposed   
them were dead. Some were still in hiding. A minority of those were actively  
opposing the Dark Forces, working as brigands, Nadir warriors. Others said  
they had been converted, hoping for survival. The use of magic by anyone   
other than the Dark Lord and his most faithful of Death Eaters was outlawed,   
the use of which being punishable by death.   
  
Fifteen years ago, he had been a humble farmer, his family left alone as a mark of respect of his family's allegiance with the Dark Brotherhood, even  
though he had been banished for treason and forced to live out the role of   
a farmer in order to survive. But he had been twenty one, he'd had a   
beautiful wife, a son of three years old whom he adored, and two baby girls,  
twins. And they had been happy.   
  
But one afternoon that happiness had been destroyed. He'd gone out   
hunting for their dinner. He remembered the kiss his wife, Ella, gave him,  
the crude clay man his son had given him after working on it all morning.   
And the squeals of laughter as he rode out, the sounds of his wife and son   
chasing each other around the garden.   
  
And when he had returned, all had been silent. No sound at all, save for  
the twittering of birds in the nearby trees. Loading his crossbow, he had  
approached the house. And encountered the most terrible sight of his life,  
the sight that haunted him today, the one that spurred him on to be this   
terrible, feared assassin.   
  
His son was lying in a flowerbed. He had been tortured before the killing  
spell had been administered, and blood stained the flowerbeds. He looked  
peaceful.   
  
Inside the house, the babes were still in their cots, untouched, apart from the mark of the spell upon them.   
  
And in the bedroom, the cruellest sight of all. His wife tied to the bed,   
undoubtedly raped, and tortured - their were fierce cuts all over her body.  
Finally, they had turned the killing spell on her too.   
  
And that day, he had changed. No longer was he the peaceful farmer and  
friend that most knew him to be. He swore vengeance, swore a blood oath  
in front of the bodies of his family, to hunt down and kill the men who had  
done this to him. Enchanted his crossbow to never miss. And shut away all  
memories of love and compassion.   
  
That day, he had become Wolfshead, the cold blooded assassin, living  
outside the law, feared by all.   
  
It had taken him fifteen years to find them all. He started off travelling,  
asking questions as to who they were, and their whereabouts.   
  
He'd found out that they were a bunch of mercenaries, bored by the end  
of the war and even though the Dark Lord had promised them sport enough  
at their own settlements, they had met up again and went looking for some  
sport of their own.   
  
He acquired their names. There were twelve altogether. Some of those he knew. There were Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Some of the old Death Eaters -Avery and Macnair. One of those among the thugs surprised him: George Weasley. Embittered, it turned out, by the death of his twin, Fred, he had sided with the Dark Brotherhood, swayed by their promises of   
revenge and glory. Most of the band he hadn't known. All of them he had  
killed.   
  
And purposefully left this last one until last. This one he had known well.  
Extremely well. And he had left him until last, because he'd known that the  
reports of the deaths of the others would have reached him. And that  
would have made him feel fear. The certainty that the man whose life he   
had helped to destroy all those years ago was wreaking his revenge on those   
who had wronged him. And, as one by one the others died at the hands of  
this man, he would have known that Wolfshead was coming for him. Any  
day now, Wolfshead could strike. He would be panicking, of course.  
Wolfshead knew the extent to which this man's fear reached; twenty-four   
hour supervision by guards, bodyguards outside his bedroom door, a   
personal taster in case his food had been poisoned. Charms and curses set  
up everywhere. And, somewhere in the back of his mind, the lingering doubt  
that Wolfshead would somehow avoid these traps and get to him.   
  
And of course, he had. It hadn't been easy. Getting past the curses and  
obstacles had been the easy part; he knew this man, and knew exactly the   
way his evil mind worked. Getting past the bodyguards should have been  
fairly easy, if only he could find a bodyguard to - ahem - borrow the uniform  
from.   
  
And by sheer luck he had encountered one coming back to the manor   
with provisions. It was widely known that this man entrusted the buying of  
his food and drink solely to his bodyguards. Wolfshead had simply  
borrowed the uniform from the guard, who hadn't resisted- well, it was   
quite hard to with a crossbow bolt jutting from his head. The fool. Wolfshead hadn't wanted to kill him, he'd only planned one death for today,  
but the idiot had attacked him with his wand. That was the only thing that   
went wrong with Wolfshead's plans - too many other people, usually  
people trying to kill Wolfshead, ended up dead.   
  
But today, Wolfshead vowed, as he approached the man's chamber  
with the goods, it would stop. He would go back to being the quiet, peaceful  
man he had been so many years ago.   
  
But will you be able to, whispered the little voice in his head. This has been your way of life for so long, will you ever be able to go back? Will the  
memories be just too painful? He ignored the voice, as ever, and pushed   
open the door of the chamber.   
  
"Ah, Nott, you are back already?" whispered the man sat by the fire, facing  
away from him. He stood and turned to face his guard.   
  
And froze.   
  
"You!" he hissed, the blood draining away from his face, which was rapidly   
becoming a mask of sheer terror. "You came for me!"   
"Yes, I came," replied Wolfshead. "Did you honestly think that your   
pathetic attempts to stop me would work?" He shook his head. "I vowed to   
make them all pay for what they did to me and my family. And you're the  
only one left. And now, Father, it's time to die." The old wizard went for   
his wand, but Wolfshead was quicker. His right arm flashed up, and two  
crossbow bolts appeared in the old wizard's chest. Lucius Malfoy died   
without a sound.   
  
And that was the end of it. All over. His task was finished.  
  
So what now?  
  
  
  



	2. A Reflection On The Years

Thank you to Ada Kensington, my sole reviewer for ch.1!   
A/N: Chapter 2. Including a lil bit of background. Now Read On....  
Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's characters, DA Gemmell's concept. I just mashed   
them together.  
  
  
Wolfshead strode away from the room, through the corridors, out of  
the mansion and into the woods nearby. Mercifully, he hadn't come across   
any of the servants. He'd leave them to raise the alarm. He found his   
steeldust gelding tethered by a tree, vaulted into the saddle and rode away.   
He was careful to keep in among the trees for as long as possible. That was   
what made Wolfshead so fearsome. No-one noticed him arrive, and he  
made damn sure they couldn't follow him when he left. It made his life a  
whole lot easier, and reduced the amount of blood on his hands.   
  
Of course, there would always be those who wanted him dead. Family of   
the deceased, usually, out to avenge their loved one's death. And, although  
plenty had his description, no-one knew who he really was. And he kept   
moving about, never staying in one place for much longer than a week, two  
at most. His silver-blond hair made him easily distinguishable, as did the   
double crossbow. And, it had to be said, that the inhabitants of the place he   
was staying at breathed a sigh of relief when he left. As to disguising himself, well, there was nothing he could do about the crossbow except keep it hidden as much as possible when he was travelling, but he had considered dying his hair. His natural vanity got in the way of that. He merely made sure his head was covered when he moved now.  
  
After riding for an hour, he arrived at the hut that was his home, at least   
for the night. He tethered his horse outside, walked in, and sank down   
gratefully onto his chair.   
  
Over. It was all over. He had finally accomplished the task that he'd set   
himself all those years ago. Fifteen years, it had taken him, but he'd done it.  
He'd avenged the deaths of his family. And, like the others, it had been a   
quick killing, despatched before any trouble had started. He himself always   
intended to stay alive. That determination always gave him the edge, and   
made him so deadly.  
  
And he felt nothing. He'd expected to feel....something. Relief. Relaxed,  
maybe, thankful that it was all over. Even shame. Not nothing. Not... empty.   
  
Where had it all started, he mused. He'd been Draco Malfoy, the son of a  
Death Eater, widely respected and feared in the wizarding community, in his  
last year at Hogwarts. And he'd known about the impending War, and had   
been prepared to fight for his father, and for the Dark Side.   
  
And then he had fallen in love. Her name was Ella. He remembered the   
first time he'd seen her, on a trip to Hogsmeade. She had been older than   
him, working in Hogsmeade in Zonko's. She'd had a wicked sense of humour, and was very beautiful. Draco had fallen in love with her immediately, and was ecstatic when, after only six months of dating, she'd agreed to marry him.   
  
Then, with impeccable timing, the War had started. Ella had been   
determined to fight against Voldemort. And Draco would have done anything  
for her. Anything. He'd renounced his family name and turned against the   
Dark Side. Fought with those he'd despised for so long. He wondered briefly  
what had happened to the others. Harry, Ron, the other Gryffindors, all his   
new friends. Ella's friends. He hadn't heard from any of them since the Fall,  
save from Snape, who'd been the childrens' godfather. But even him, he   
hadn't seen since that day fifteen years ago.   
  
After only a year, the War had ended, the Dark Forces triumphant. On  
account of his father's name, the Dark Brotherhood had been lenient,  
merely banishing Draco, forcing him to live out his life as a humble farmer,   
in a remote village away from the town.   
  
But he didn't care. He had Ella. They married in a quiet ceremony   
conducted by the village Source priest. Two years later, their son, Gellan,  
was born. Two years after that, the girls, Miriel and Krylla.   
  
Then came the massacre. Then he had changed. He was Draco Malfoy no  
longer. He was the Wolfshead, merciless assassin. He had hunted down and   
killed the twelve men who'd destroyed his happiness, along with a few   
others who had been trying to kill him on the way.  
  
The enormity of his deed and the events of the last fifteen years finally   
caught up with him. He sank down off the chair onto his knees with a howl  
of anguish. He called out Ella's name again and again. And he knew that he   
could not go back. He could never be the Draco Malfoy he had been again.   
Not properly. For in a way, Draco the farmer had died that day, along with   
Ella and the children.   
  
He was destined to forever be Draco, the Wolfshead, feared assassin and   
outlaw. Both admired and feared. Hunter and hunted. Shaking, he got up and  
staggered to the window, and stared out at the darkening sky.   
"Ella!" he whispered. "Ella, what would you think of me now? You'd be proud  
of my determination but ashamed that I'd killed so many, wouldn't you? I'm   
sorry, Ella. I love you. That's why I did it. I was furious, and upset, and I wanted revenge. I was lost without you. Ella!" The tears came again, and he just stood there, letting them fall in the growing darkness.  
  
A noise outside made him turn, breathing heavily. He felt the onset of   
panic rising in his stomach. Calm yourself! he snapped at himself. No-one   
knows you are here. No-one could have followed you, you left no tracks.   
  
His panic rose again as he thought of Voldemort. He'd just killed his most   
loyal supporter. Voldemort could have used a Search Spell, and sent out   
assassins to kill him. Or worse.  
  
He'd been the target of such an attack a few years ago. Creatures sent by   
Lucius, as his panic grew. Meld creatures, half human, mostly animal,   
ferocious beyond belief.  
  
Draco fought to control his panic, standing motionless for a few seconds   
until he felt calm again. You've been triumphant before, there's no reason   
why you can't do so again. They couldn't kill you then, they won't be able to   
kill you now.   
  
But you're older, now, the treacherous voice in his head whispered. He   
ignored it. Just be careful, he told himself. He wiped his face, controlled his   
breathing, and picked up his crossbow. His senses sharpened, and he crept   
along the wall, listening, watching.   
  
There was definitely something out there. He could hear them moving   
around. He shuddered to think what could be out there if Voldemort was   
determined to kill him.   
  
Focus! He shook himself, and paused, leaning against the wall. He gripped  
the little clay man around his neck. It was his most treasured possession, as   
it had been the last thing little Gellan had given him before that dreadful day. He'd had it made into a necklace and wore it as a talisman. And he'd been lucky. So far...  
  
He could hear voices outside, and the sound of hooves. He let go of the   
clay man and rested his free hand on the hilt of his sword. The voices were   
coming closer.   
  
"Ouch! Hey, the bloody thing bit me!"  
"Shut up, you idiot! Do you want him to find us?"  
"OK, OK, sorry!" Wolfshead paused, waiting, by the door. He opened it   
slowly and stood silently in the frame, watching the two men. One was tall,   
with red hair, the other shorter. He thought he recognised them, but couldn't quite make out their features. They hadn't noticed him yet. They were still arguing, making so much noise that a blind man could track them. They were fighting to secure one of the horses, which was quite clearly nervous and kept trying to bolt. Wolfshead frowned. That was strange, animals usually felt calm when they were near him, for despite his reputation among humans, he was quite kindly. Dogs and horses especially. He chuckled to himself. What did that say about him, he wondered, the fact that the only animals that really trusted him were dogs? But there must be something out there. He moved out into the yard.   
  
"Bloody hell!" The two men had finally secured the horse to one of the   
trees and had finally noticed him. He must have looked a formidable sight,   
he thought. Tall, and muscly, wearing blackened chain mail and leather,   
silver hair shining in the moonlight. The two men appeared mesmerised,   
and Wolfshead smiled to himself. His eyes flicked across the landscape,   
taking in every sight, noting every movement, searching for something   
unnatural. He strained his hearing, listening for something other than the   
sounds of the night. And then realisation hit him.  
  
The men had unfrozen now, and the smaller one moved towards Wolfshead, grinning.   
  
"Hey! You're..." Wolfshead's arm flashed up, and sent two crossbow  
bolts flying through the air.   
  
  



	3. The Melding

  
A/N: Chapter 3 of my sensational series :) Enjoy.  
  
Disclaimer: See previous chapters.   
  
  
The men spun around as the bolts zipped past them and thudded into something in the trees. There was a terrible growl.   
"What the hell was that?" demanded the shorter man. Draco recognised them now. Well, the reunion would have to wait.   
"A Melding," he replied, moving out towards them. "It was either tracking you two, or me. Or all of us. Damn near had you." He paused on the edge of the tree line, waiting, listening. He could hear the monster's grunts of pain, and started towards the sound.   
"You don't want to go in there!" Wolfshead paused and threw him his crossbow.   
"If it comes out of the woods, shoot it. It will only die if the bolts pierce the back of the neck or the skull."   
"What about you? You're mental, it will kill you!" Wolfshead paused and drew his sword. The blade had an eerie, ethereal glow to it, and the visitors drew back from it.   
"I am very hard to kill, old friend," replied Wolfshead grimly, and set off to face the brute in the forest.   
  
He found it almost immediately. A colossal, bear-like creature, part beast, part human, part demon. As Wolfshead approached, it stood, and pulled the second crossbow bolt out of its leg. The first one lay where it had thrown it seconds earlier, a few feet away. The wounds healed instantly. Wolfshead swore. It turned to face him, evil eyes glowing red.   
  
"Come on then, you ugly whoreson, come and get me," taunted Wolfshead. The creature snarled and charged, swiping at him with its huge talons. He ducked under the enormous arm, then lunged with the sword. The creature swung around so the blade missed and Wolfshead cannoned into it's side. The beast rose up on its hind legs, knocking Wolfshead to the ground, and then struck. Wolfshead rolled away at the last moment and leapt to his feet. He lunged again with the sword, sinking it into the creature's shoulder. It screamed with pain and fury, and the other arm swung up across its chest and struck Wolfshead, who was flung off and hit the ground awkwardly. There was a sickening snap as his right arm broke, and he could feel blood trickling down his side. The Melding lunged again, and Wolfshead rolled away from the attack, wincing as his weight fell on his injured arm. He got to his feet unsteadily, and noticed that his sword was laying a few feet away. What made the situation even worse was that the beast was in between him and his sword, on all fours, and his crossbow was on the other side of the trees. He feinted one way. The creature darted the same way. He tried the other way, the creature again following his every movement.   
  
"Difficult bastard, aren't you?" he chuckled, shaking his head, then ran straight towards the Melding. The Melding dived towards him. As the animal struck, Wolfshead jumped. He leaped over it, swearing as he hit the ground heavily next to his sword, and picked it up awkwardly in his left hand. They faced each other again.   
  
"Come on then, you bastard!" Wolfshead hissed. Both man and beast charged at the same time. As they were about to collide he jumped onto the beast's back, sinking the sword into its neck and giving it a savage twist, then jumping off as the creature fell. It rolled, and lay twitching for a moment, then all was still.   
  
Wolfshead pulled his sword free with difficulty, then gave himself a quick examination. His right leg was tender and would need strapping. He gently ran a hand across his chest, feeling for any snapped ribs. There appeared to be none. The scratches in his side, however, were quite deep and would require stitching. He was starting to feel a bit woozy. He staggered out of the forest, back to where his old friends were waiting.   
  
He saw them waiting for him at the edge of the tree line. They noticed him and he saw relief wash over their faces.   
"Close one, eh, Potter, Weasley?" he said, greeting them  
"I thought it was you, Malfoy," Harry said.   
"Not any longer, Potter" replied Wolfshead sadly. "I'm Wolfshead. Dreaded hunter and hunted, that's me."   
"We heard what you'd been doing," said Ron frostily. "We've been trying to find you for five years. Always managed to be in a place a couple of days behind you."   
"Well, I've made sure I'm pretty difficult to track down, for obvious reasons, like the bastard in the woods. Oh, and thanks for all your help," Wolfshead smiled sarcastically.   
  
"I told them not to," said a third person. Wolfshead spun around, then saw a man dressed in the pale blue robes of the Source priests sat on a boulder. He grinned.   
"Ah, Kai, my friend, good to see you." Wolfshead staggered over to the man and pulled him into a hug. "I'd like you to meet two old friends from my schooldays. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley." Harry and Ron nodded at him.   
  
"I know. I've been helping them find you for the last six months."   
"Blimey, I must be hard to find if even the great Kai can't locate me! Six months? You only took two to track down all the Death Eaters before the Battle!" The priest smiled.   
"Like you said, you make sure you're difficult to find."   
  
Wolfshead turned towards the house and walked towards it, stumbling. The priest viewed him in concern. "Draco, I think you'd better lie down. and let me look at you."   
"I'll be fine, my friend. Just let me get inside." He stumbled again and   
paused, catching his breath. His eyes kept unfocusing.   
"You're a bad liar, you know, Malfoy. Always have been," said Harry, walking forwards with Ron to help him into the house.  
"Didn't you hear me? I'll be fine!" Wolfshead snapped.   
"No, you won't," replied Kai. "You've lost quite a lot of blood. Just let them help you and I'll see to you. Years of being indestructible have made him arrogant," he added in a whisper to Harry and Ron, who grinned.   
  
"Nah, he was always like that, even at school," said Harry. "Come on, Hero, lie down." They dumped him on the sofa.   
"Ouch! You could have been more gentle!"   
"You fight a Melding with no complaint and you moan about us being a little bit rough?" Harry shook his head. "You're impossible, you know that?"   
"I pride myself on it," smirked Wolfshead. He frowned as he regarded Ron, who was still eyeing him warily. "Thank you for helping me." Ron nodded.   
  
"You killed my brother." Wolfshead groaned. He'd known this was bound to come up. Damn!  
"I'm sorry, Ron. But he was a Dark wizard and slaughtered my family. What would you do?"   
"The same, I guess."   
"Well, what do you want then? Weregild?" Weregild was a method of paying money to end a blood feud.   
"Nothing. I want you to know that I forgive you." Wolfshead sighed, partly with relied, partly with pain.   
"No matter how much forgiveness I get, Ron, I will never be able to forgive myself." The priest moved over him, asking Harry and Ron to step back, and laid his hands on Draco. Ron started to speak, and Kai silenced him with a wave of his hand.  
  
Five minutes later, Wolfshead was asleep, and Kai stepped back.   
"What did you do?" asked Ron.   
"Source priests have a certain amount of healing powers," replied Kai. "I merely sealed up his wounds and mended the break in his arm. It's not hard when you know how. Besides, he'll need everything working for the task you two have for him." They nodded. "Do you think he will undertake it?"   
"Who knows," replied Harry. "After the last fifteen years, he may not want to. But we can still try. If not, we'll have to send Macmillan."   
"Macmillan? He's useless!" exclaimed Ron. "He'll get himself killed!"   
"But if Draco won't do it, then we have no choice, Ron. It's our last chance to eradicate the Dark Brotherhood."  
"I'm really not relishing another war, Harry."   
"None of us are, Ron. But it's better than being ruled over by them." Ron nodded grimly, then turned towards the fire. They sat mostly in silence for the next hour, then Wolfshead woke.   
  
"By all the gods, you're a wonder, Kai," he exclaimed, examining himself. He picked up his sword in his right hand, and went through a couple of moves with it. "Thank you."   
"You're welcome, my friend. I shall leave you now, I believe Harry and Ron have a matter which they would like to discuss with you." Wolfshead watched the priest out, then turned to his old friends.   
  
"So, why have you been searching for me?" he asked. Ron hesitated.  
"We need you to come with us," he replied. "There's someone who wants to speak to you. Said they had a job for you, if you're willing to take it on. Willing to pay you a hundred thousand Galleons." Wolfshead   
whistled.   
"Must be some job, if they're willing to pay that much." He regarded them again. They seemed uncomfortable. "What exactly is it?" They didn't meet his eyes.   
  
"He wouldn't say," replied Harry, shifting uncomfortably.  
"Who do I have to kill?"   
"Look, man, Harry said he wouldn't say what the job was. We don't even know if it involves killing or not," Ron tried to reason with him. Wolfshead turned on him, eyes blazing.   
"No, you look! This person has ordered you to come and find me. He's willing to pay a hundred thousand Galleons to hire the most feared, deadly man in the country! And you're telling me it doesn't involve killing?" He shook his head. "Look, I..." he faltered slightly. "In order to get some money to find the men who butchered my family, I hired myself out to a man who paid me to...dispose of someone. He offered me a high price. The higher the price the more important the person. And I did it. Shot him in the back while he was in his garden. I'm not proud of it. And I will never, ever do it again. Understand?" They nodded, then Harry and Ron rose as if to leave. "However," they stopped. "It doesn't mean that I won't come with you, see this person, find out the task. Then I can refuse him personally."   
"Thank you," Harry said, shaking his hand.   
"It's nothing. Really. Besides, I have to be moving from here. The locals are getting nervous. Come, I'll show you to your beds."   
  
Draco lay in bed awake that night long after Ron and Harry had drifted off to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the man he'd shot for money, his body writhing in pain as he slowly died. It was a source of deep regret to him. He hadn't wanted to do it, but the need for vengeance was too great and overpowered his moral judgement. And it would haunt him until the day he died, he knew. And he wondered, as he tried in vain to sleep, whether he had done the right thing in agreeing to the meeting.  
  
****  
  
He approached a stream. Beside it, Ella and Gellan were playing, the babes asleep in carry-cots nearby. He sneaked up beside Ella and threw his arms around her. She spun around, a knife gleaming in her hand, and stabbed him in the belly.   
"What was that for?" he whispered, staring at her in disbelief. "It's me, Draco! Your husband!"   
"You're no better than them," she replied, indicating the riders fast approaching. As they drew near, the scene dissolved, and he watched as the raiders ransacked his home and butchered his family, while he knelt, unable to stop them, screaming in pain and fury. As they left, he felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him.   
"Draco, get up."   
"Leave me! I want to die!"   
"Draco, you have to get up!"   
"I deserve to die! I'm just like them! Leave me!"   
"Draco!" The hands on his shoulders hauled him up...  
  
And he found himself lying in his own bed, Harry's green eyes watching him with concern.   
"Bad dream?" Harry asked. Wolfshead nodded.   
"I really am no better than they, am I?" he whispered to himself.   
"What was that?"   
"Nothing." Wolfshead rose and opened the curtains. Dawn was just breaking. "I'll prepare some breakfast, and we leave when we've eaten."   



	4. A Scuffle...

A/N: My thanks to JK for her inspiring reviews! Thank you for taking the time to review my little fic :)  
  
Chapter 4: A Scuffle....  
  
  
They rode out an hour later, Wolfshead riding just ahead of the other two. He seemed lost in thought, and they didn't wish to disturb him. It seemed to them that he was carrying the sorrows of the whole world on his shoulders.   
"What's up with him, do you reckon?" Ron whispered to Harry.   
"Don't know. But I think he had a bad dream last night," Harry replied.   
"A dream? But dreams don't usually affect you like that, do they?" Wolfshead stopped and turned around in the saddle to face them.   
"My friend, be grateful you never have to experience the sort of dreams I have," he replied, wistfully. Ron could see the torture in his eyes, and wisely let the matter drop.   
  
They rode on in silence for the next hour, Wolfshead always slightly out in front, scanning the horizon. He seemed alert, composed, and Harry noticed that he always rode with one hand resting on his crossbow.   
"Why so careful?" he asked, riding up alongside Draco.   
"Expect the best and prepare for the worst," replied Wolfshead. He stopped the horse suddenly, eyes flicking to the passes in the mountains ahead.   
  
"How long do you think it would take us to ride to that clump of trees over there?" he asked, pointing.   
"At full speed? About ten minutes," replied Ron. Wolfshead swore.   
"How about that line of rocks there?" Ron looked to where he was pointing.   
"About a minute. But you don't want to go down there, it's a deep valley and virtually impossible to navigate."   
"That'll do," replied Wolfshead, spurring his mount on towards the drop. "Just follow me, you'll be alright."   
"Draco, why..." began Harry, but the answer was instantly obvious; an arrow embedded itself in the ground where Draco's horse had been a second ago. Harry and Ron urged their horses into a run and followed Draco down into the valley.   
  
They picked their way slowly down the steep slope, looking out for Draco. They couldn't see him, and Harry thought for one awful moment that he had fallen.   
  
"Pssst! In here!" They turned to see Wolfshead beckoning them from a small cave on a small ledge that was almost invisible from above. They followed him inside.  
"Where did they come from?" demanded Ron.   
"The Amaziga Pass," replied Wolfshead, moving to the mouth of the cave and sliding two crossbow bolts into place.  
"What? How..." began Ron. Wolfshead placed his finger on his lips; the men were making their way over the top of the cliff. He made to move off.   
"You're going out to meet them?" hissed Harry. Wolfshead rounded on him.   
"Have you got a better plan?" he demanded.   
"Why did you run if you were going to face them?"   
"I didn't want to be pierced by an arrow, that sort of thing really puts a crimp in your day!"   
"You'll get killed!" Wolfshead laughed, the sound cold and mocking.   
"I've said before, I am very difficult to kill. We'll have more chance if I go out there than if they come in here. Just trust me, Harry." Without another word he strode from the cave, leaving the other two to stare after him.   
  
"Good day, gentlemen, I trust you are well?" he greeted. The leader stepped down to meet him. He was fairly tall and lean built. His face was handsome, but had a mean, cold pinch to it, and a cruel, thin mouth that quite spoilt it. His cold, black eyes glittered with malice. Draco knew that this man was a killer. He also noted that his hands were always by his sides, where a couple of pistols were holstered.  
"This is not the time for such niceties, Wolfshead!" he spat. "I am here to avenge the death of my brother, Lord Osir!" Draco lost the smile that had been on his face moments later, and it was quickly replaced by a harsh frown.   
"Camran Osir was scum of the worst kind!" he hissed.   
"You killed him! Shot him in the back while he was in his garden, you murderous traitor!"   
"I? Murderous?" Wolfshead laughed. "He gave the order for a thousand children to be sacrificed! And I know you, Polian Osir. You who live for rape, torture and murder. What I have done in my life pales in comparison!"   
"You whoreson!" screamed Polian, going for his guns. But Wolfshead was faster, and Polian was dead before he'd got his pistols clear.   
  
The other five riders surged forward in attack. Wolfshead drew his sword and parried a lunge from the first. He spun on his heel and sent a clean swipe through the man's jugular. He pitched forward, and the second ran in. Wolfshead dived as the man shot at him. The bullet just grazed his arm. He sent his remaining crossbow bolt through the man's right eye, and turned to face the other three with his sword.   
  
They circled him and attacked at the same time. Wolfshead blocked and parried, hoping desperately for one of them to make a foolish move that he could exploit. But they were all highly skilled swordsmen, and it was going to be a tough fight.  
  
He could see more people appearing at the edge of the scree. He swore, then saw out of the corner of his eye Harry and Ron taking up weapons and racing to meet them. At least, Harry was racing to meet them. Ron was standing stock-still, as if too terrified to move. Draco swore again, and parried a thrust aiming for his neck. He turned his attention back to the immediate difficulty of the men trying to hack him to pieces.  
  
He managed to fell one of them by a lucky blow to the belly. The other two closed in on him, as they forced him back nearer and nearer to the edge. He was beginning to tire now, and he could see the light of triumph beginning to shine in their eyes. He lunged for the nearest one, surprising him, which meant he parried clumsily, and received a deep gash in the thigh. Wolfshead lunged again, this time succeeding in stabbing the youngster in the groin. A blood-curdling scream sounded from his right, surprising him, allowing the remaining man to get close enough to push him over the edge.  
  
He gripped the ledge with his hands and tried to pull himself up. A foot closed down on his left hand, and he looked up into the face of the remaining assailant. The man managed to kick Wolfshead's left hand away, and he twisted and swung over the treacherous drop. His eyes were searching for a shelf or a bush, something to grab on to for when the assailant kicked his remaining hand away. But he could focus on nothing, save for the valley floor.  
  
He looked up again into the eyes of the man intending to kill him. A twisted grin adorned his features.   
  
And was still in place when he pitched forward, an arrow jutting from the back of his head.   
  
  
  
  
  



	5. ...And a chat

A/N: Thank you to JK and Incitatus for reviewing. Glad you like the story :)  
  
Chapter 5: ...And a chat.  
  
  
Draco found himself being pulled up by Harry and Ron. He scrambled up from the floor and dusted himself off. There was a graze on his leg, but there didn't seem to be any serious injury. He noticed that Ron was holding a bow and peered over the edge, trying to see the body of the man below. He then surveyed the scene. One of the men who had arrived late appeared to have had his head hacked off with an arrowhead. Two of the others were lying on the ground with arrows jutting from their necks.  
Harry had his arm on Ron's shoulder and was whispering to him.  
"Nice shooting, Weasley," Wolfshead praised. Ron merely nodded, and walked back to the cave.   
  
Ten minutes later they set off again, Wolfshead out in front. Harry and Ron were whispering together.   
"That man is amazing," Ron whispered.   
"I know. And he's so calm, how does he do it?" Harry whispered back.   
"Fifteen years of training and practice and unwilling to be killed by the people willing to kill me," Wolfshead called back. He turned in the saddle and grinned at their dumbstruck faces. "I also have very, very good hearing!" He turned back and continued to scout for trouble. Harry and Ron spurred on their mounts and rode alongside him.   
  
They rode in silence for a while, neither Harry or Ron wanting to voice their concerns. Their fidgeting was making Wolfshead uncomfortable, and he stopped and got off his horse.   
"What's troubling you two?" he asked. They glanced at each other, neither willing to speak. "You've probably got a lot of questions, so come on, we'll have a bit of a break and I'll answer them."   
"OK. First question, simple one. Why 'Wolfshead'?" asked Harry.   
"Easy. Because I'm an outlaw, a wolfshead, and because I move with the stealth of a wolf. Besides, it was Lucius who gave me the nickname." Draco spat the word 'Lucius', and Harry and Ron lapsed into silence. "Well, come on, we won't ride on until you've got all the knowledge of me you want."   
"Your sword. Why did it glow like that when the Melding was near?" asked Ron.   
"It was enchanted by a shaman. It's been a great help to me throughout the years, it warns me whenever the Dark Forces are near." Ron nodded, then hesitated. The next questions were difficult ones and he was unsure how Draco would react. Harry nudged Ron, who cleared his throat.  
  
"Camran Osir," he began. Wolfshead's eyes narrowed. "Was he one of the raiders or..."   
"He was!" snapped Wolfshead. "Next question."   
"How many people have you killed since the Fall?" asked Harry, hesitantly. Wolfshead fell silent and turned away.   
"Next question."   
"Why?" Wolfshead turned back to face them, and Harry noted the pain in his eyes.   
"I don't want you to think badly of me."   
"Draco, we've thought badly of you ever since school," Ron joked, but Wolfshead shook his head.   
"No, I mean it, you'll hate me. I mean, really hate me. I hate myself."   
"How many?" Harry pressed. Wolfshead mumbled something. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."   
"I said, probably over a hundred, are you happy now?" Wolfshead yelled. "Fifteen of them killed my family, so that was justified. I don't know how many I assassinated, so don't ask, and I've also had a bloody great deal trying to kill me, like the bastards just now! I had to kill them to stay alive, you understand? You understand!" Wolfshead was getting hysterical now, and he strode away from the other two, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down.  
  
"You don't know what it's like," he said finally. "To come home one day and to find your family dead. To want revenge so much that you spend fifteen years trying to find them all. To be hunted; for every one you kill another ten want revenge on you."   
"But...you're a legend," said Ron helplessly.   
  
"I didn't ask to be!" yelled Wolfshead. "You want to trade places, then fine! See if you like people staring at you, too scared to talk to you. See if you like being hunted, every day having to kill someone who's trying to hack you to pieces. See if you like never settling in one place because the locals get nervous around you, and you can't go anywhere without some horrible, constant reminder of what you've become.  
  
"All I ever wanted was to be a normal man, a husband, a father! I didn't ask for anyone to butcher my family so I could spend the next fifteen years hunting for their killers! I certainly didn't want to be hunted! Do you know the kind of things I've faced in those fifteen years?" Ron, mouth hanging open in surprise from the verbal attack, shook his head slowly. "I have faced Meldings, like the one you saw yesterday I have faced demons sent from the Pit. But more than that...I have faced men. Men wanting revenge, men simply wanting the rewards that the Brotherhood have offered. It would be nice to think that all of them were evil men, but they weren't. Many were good, gentle men, family men, men like I used to be. Unskilled with weapons, many of them. And I had to kill them to stay alive. And the legend grew, telling how I beat fifty men in one assault, stuff like that. The truth is, it's not hard when most of them don't know one end of the sword from the other, or point the pistol the wrong way. I never wanted to be a legend. All I wanted was to be happy with my family. Now I have no family, no happiness, not even the chance to be the man I once was." Draco was sobbing now. Harry and Ron just looked at each other, unsure of how to react. Finally, Draco's sobs subsided, and he looked up at them, got on his horse and wheeled round, setting off back the way they came.   
  
"Where are you going?" demanded Harry.   
"I'm going back. You hate me now, there's no point carrying on." Ron rode on to catch up with him.   
"No, we don't hate you. Come on, you daft 'apporth, we've got to reach the palace by tonight."   
"You don't hate me?" Wolfshead was genuinely surprised. Ron grinned.   
"Nah. You can be an insufferable git sometimes, but we don't hate you. Now, can you show me that thing you did with your sword? You know, when you were surrounded by those men?" Wolfshead grinned.   
  
"I will if you tell me how you managed to kill all those men back there," he offered. Ron shrugged.   
"I don't really know how. I mean, when they first came down the hill I was terrified, then I screamed and the terror just fled from me. I wasn't aware of anything, the red mist just came down and all I could think about was killing them."   
"So, you're a berserker?" Ron reddened.   
"I didn't say that!"   
"You didn't have to. Hey, it's nothing to be ashamed of, Ron. You'll be a hard man to kill. I'm glad I'm fighting with you, not against you, is all. Anyway, that thing with the sword..." Ron sighed with relief as he took up his sword, grateful for the change of subject.  
  
*  
  
Dusk had fallen by the time the riders reached the Nadir camp. Draco watched with jealousy as Hermione ran to greet Ron, and wished not for the first time that Ella was still alive.   
  
"Do you want to meet the man in charge?" asked Harry, noticing the look on Draco's face. Draco merely nodded and followed Harry without a word.   
  
Harry led Draco to the largest hut and left him there. The guard at the entrance eyed him suspiciously. Draco busied himself with admiring the decor, shields lining the walls, and some weaponry, typical warrior's hut.   
  
At last the door at the end of the hall opened and another guard beckoned Draco in.   
He strode into the room and came face to face with Dumbledore. He looked so old and frail now, but his eyes still had the determined, fighting spirit Draco had seen so many times as a boy at Hogwarts. He was amazed, he thought the old boy would have been long dead by now. He bowed.   
  
"There is no need nor the time for such formality, Mr Malfoy," said Dumbledore, getting up and taking Draco's hand in the warrior's grip, wrist to wrist. "I called you here for a reason, and I know that there is also a chance that you will refuse the mission."   
"I am not killing anyone," said Wolfshead determinedly.   
"We are not asking you to," said a new voice. Severus Snape and Remus Lupin had appeared at Dumbledore's side. "Hello, Draco."   
"Hello, Severus!" Severus went to Draco's side and embraced him like a brother.   
"I'm sorry I haven't been in touch, Draco, but you were so hard to reach. Ella's death must have hurt you greatly."   
"It did, Severus, and it doesn't matter about not being in touch. I'm just glad you're alive."   
"Gentlemen, if we may concentrate on the task in hand?" asked Dumbledore. Draco nodded.   
  
"As Severus has said, we do not wish you to kill anyone. However, the task in hand is extremely dangerous, and you have a lot of experience in surviving. You seemed like the best man for the job."  
  
"We need you to spy on the Brotherhood," said Remus. "There is a big gathering in Ventria next week, and we believe that Voldemort will be unveiling his plans for attacking the Nadir. It also coincides with the annual Death Eater feast at the Winter Palace. There are rumours abound that he is to receive the aid of an Ipissimus. We hope that the information is false. I trust you know what an Ipissimus is." Draco had paled visibly at the news. An Ipissimus was an almighty sorcerer, capable of summoning the Demon Lord. He nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.   
  
"As Albus has stated, this is a dangerous mission, with a high risk that you could be captured or killed," Severus continued. "Your actions there could also plunge the country almost immediately into war, especially in the event of your capture. But it is also our best chance of winning the war. Will you accept, Draco?"   
  
"What choice do I have?" Wolfshead asked, half to himself.   
"We all have choices, Mr Malfoy," replied Dumbledore. Wolfshead looked into Dumbledore's eyes. He could easily walk away from this mission, easily turn his back on the Nadir and aim for survival in a remote forest far from here.   
  
But he also knew that he would not be able to live with the guilt, had he not tried to help. And what better revenge for the destruction of his family, than helping to eradicate the force that had killed them?  
  
"I'll do it," Wolfshead replied. "When do I leave?"   
"Your horse will be ready at first light, at the eastern gate," replied Dumbledore. "Alneith will show you to your hut."  
"I'll be there." He shook hands with Lupin and Dumbledore in the warrior's grip, embraced Severus and strode out of the hut, following the young guard to his hut and began to make preparations for his mission.   
  
Draco Malfoy, what have you let yourself in for? he wondered later that night, staring up at the ceiling as sleep eluded him once more.  
  



End file.
